


One-Night Stand

by wildwordwomyn



Category: 30 Seconds To Mars (Band), Kane (Band), Supernatural RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Dirty Talk, Erotica, Eyeliner Kink, M/M, One Night Stand, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-23
Updated: 2008-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen, meet Jared. Jared, hit on Jensen. Jensen, get your sex-groove on with Jared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One-Night Stand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schnute23](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=schnute23).



> Jensen's POV.

You haven’t told anyone. Not that you ever would, though, because, really, how exactly are you supposed to tell your friends that you’re looking at another guy? In a way most definitely not hey-let’s-be-friends but more like I’d-love-to-fuck-you? You don’t even know the man. He’s older than you, and shorter, and prettier, not that you mind that last part. Anyway what’s most important about this moment is the fact that he’s looking back. And his eyes are clear blue like a bright summer sky and somehow they’re holding this heat that makes you want to liquefy right here and now. Literally. Does that make you the girl? Does it matter? If he asked you to stick your legs in the air for him could anyone fault you for doing it?

“Jared Leto,” he says with a slight smile as he introduces himself. “I’ve seen your show. You’re good.” Truth is it doesn’t sound like that much of a compliment but it’s obvious that he means it. He thinks you’re good. Flushed, anyone?

You clear your immediately choked throat. “Jensen Ackles.” You shake hands a second longer than customary. “Thanks. Not bad yourself.” You get lost in his direct gaze, can’t help it, and your hand is, by this awkward point, holding his. You let go in embarrassment.

Oddly, what you least expected to happen happens. He smirks and puts an arm around your shoulder, asking your opinion on tonight’s concert. You gush a little, okay, a lot, because it actually was a good one. Everyone in the band played their hearts out. And his voice was perfect for the emo/alternative rock they play. But he keeps looking you in the eye, which makes you aware that his eyeliner could use a touch-up. You’ll never say that. But it makes him look even more gorgeous than you thought possible because his eyes, _God_, his eyes scream have-your-way-with-me or some such hotness.

“You ever play live?” he asks, his voice a little gravelly like Steve’s after a show and you’re not thinking it sounds sexy like that. Not at all. “I mean I hear you sing and play, but you’re not in a band, are you?”

“Uh, no. I just do it as a hobby, you know?” His arm is still around you, he smells kinda sweaty and grungy and lemony (that’s a new one…) and there’s no way it’s turning you on except, well, it is.

“Aw, man, you should. It’s a rush!” He winks, winks for Christ’s sake, and seemingly misses your trying to shrug his arm off. It isn’t obvious until his arm slips to the middle of your back that he’s done it on purpose. Until he leans close and whispers, “Better than sex.” You shiver uncontrollably.

And, really, what can you say to that?

You're just hanging around the club because of Steve who has somehow disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with this guy and his shiny lips and black eyeliner that's starting to run and skin-tight black leggings that are certainly not hiding what he's working with and this strategically ripped black t-shirt showcasing small brown nipples you can't help noticing…Fuck, where's Steve when you need him?!

“So, Mr. Jensen Ackles, got any plans for the rest of the night?” Your jaw drops a little and you hope you don't look as stupid as you think but you are at a loss for words. Is Jordan Catalano (so you may have watched ‘My So-Called Life’ a time or two or all) asking to spend time with you?

“…Uh…” Any other time English would be your first language. Really!

“Good.” With that said you're swept up in Leto-land.

He steers you into the ring of groupies surrounding the band, grinning, his eyes sparkling. His arm, the treacherous thing, is long and warm and still around your back with his hand resting too comfortably on the curve of your hip. You have on a pair of ass-hugging jeans that you know you look good in but that hand feels an awful lot like it’s finding its way under your dark green button down to, _oh Jesus_, caress bare skin. For a second you don’t remember your name or where you’re from, let alone how into guys you’re not. All you know is that his fingers are light and oddly silky and hypnotizing.

“Steve, man, long time, no see!” he calls to your now ex friend.

They get into a conversation about music and performing. You don’t pay attention to any of it. You want to. You try. But he’s so close, standing right next to you as if fused to your side, his thigh resting against yours. Every time you attempt to put some distance between you he pulls you back. After a while you stop attempting anything. If he wants you so bad who are you to argue? Finally after an hour it’s decided by everyone including Steve that another club a few blocks away would be cool to hang out at so you’re herded along out the door.

At the new club you’ve never been to but find kinda funky in a good get-your-indie-music-groove-on way Jared remains at your side. During your conversation with Steve. During your conversation with Jared’s brother Shannon. During your run to the bar to get a double shot of Cuervo because, let’s face it, at this point you need it as much as you need to breathe. During your resulting run to the bathroom. He stays right with you. And no one except Steve, who just gives you a quirked eyebrow half-smile, the bastard, thinks anything of it.

In the bathroom you stand next to each other at the urinals, pretending this is about two guys pissing when in reality it’s a chance to…He leans over after shaking himself off and says something about the buddy system not being only for girls. When you turn to look at him his face is a lot closer than it should be. Before you can blink his lips are on yours. In the back of your mind you’re freaking out. The phrase ‘not gay’ plays on repeat in your head even as he pulls back to lick a wet stripe up your neckline to that sensitive area right below your ear. You would’ve told him to stop, no, seriously, but it’s your weakness. You melt (see, now, your reaction is totally out of your control no matter what anyone says…honest) at the feeling of a hot tongue there every time. This is no different. And with your eyes closed it doesn’t have to be another guy running his hands up under your shirt, pushing you up against the opposite wall as he leans against you. Until he starts saying these dirty, sexy _sexual_ things in your ear. See, all the blood that was fighting to stay upstairs? Downstairs now. Every drop. Making you hard as a rock.

“Been watching your lips all night. You know that? Such sexy lips. Dick-sucking lips. That’s what you got, Mr. Jensen Ackles. Dick-sucking lips. I can see them wrapped around mine…You want that? Huh, baby?” Baby?! Where’d that come from?

“I-”

You can't get another word out. Not one that makes sense. All you know is someone could come into the bathroom at any second and he's not letting you go and when he pushes you down to your knees and roughly pushes his pants low enough to show that he's neither a boxers nor briefs type of guy you don't stop him. He smells like sweat and musk and motor oil (?) and he's bare-balling it and the feel of his dick is a lot softer than you thought it would be. Uh. Could be. Um. Is? You refuse to admit even to yourself that you were wondering about it at all.

“Get busy, boy. We don't have much time…” Jordan Catalano's giving Dean Winchester orders?! Of all the craziest shit in the world...

He tastes like salt. Sweet salt. And somehow the shape of his head, all red and engorged and slick, fits perfectly into the bowl of your tongue when you suck it into your mouth. You hear his head thump forward against the wall as he says something else dirty about your mouth. Doesn't matter that you can't understand him. You get the hint when his hands caress your hair. Besides, him being hot like this, telling you that you’re hot like this? You figure what more harm could it do in letting more of his dick slip down your throat? Surprisingly you're good at giving head if his encouragement is anything to go by. He's thick, stubby, not too small, not too big, your lips stretched just enough to tingle but not hurt. Immediately your head starts swaying to and fro as you push ahead, then back, again, then again, your hands finding and gripping his hanging jeans. Without warning he comes. In your mouth. To make matters worse you actually swallow before you can stop yourself. Well, you haven't planned any of this so you can't really be blamed for mistakes, can you?

“Jesus!” he whispers down at you. “That was...You are...Jesus.....”

He pulls you up and pulls down your jeans all in one graceful move you couldn't do to save your life. He says something about returning the favor some other time right when he kisses you. His come is still on your lips, still coating your mouth but his tongue has some tart flavor you like, only a little, of course, so you keep the kiss going when he tries to pull away. He pushes against your chest and steps back. You ignore that whimper that just came out of you.

“Want you to fuck me. Now.”

The man has a way of making you forget yourself. Repeatedly.

He grins. “Please?”

How are you supposed to turn him down? He's so damn hungry for it. For you. And you’re aching. Pulsing. You take him in your arms and turn him around to face the wall you were just leaning against. Stroke his dick because, hell, you have to know what it feels like in your hand. Once, twice. Okay, you eventually lose count of how many times. Spit in your other hand to slick yourself up. Then in you go. No prep. No lube. (Even straight guys know about lube, okay?) Just slide right to home base. Is it a problem that you didn't pave the way, so to speak? Guess not because he starts this low moaning thing that…You can't help it. A hard, fast pace is how it gets done. Hard and fast. And if you can't see his face, if you feel your way between the rips of his t-shirt to pinch at pert little nipples and grin like the cat that caught the canary when he slumps back into you that’s just pride in a job well done. He comes on the wall (you must just be _that_ good for him to come again that quick), his ass squeezing your dick so tight into his dark heat that when you finally come you let a growl roar from your throat. 

Not your fault. That's all there is to it.

“Fuck!” he sighs, his body relaxing slowly.

“Yeah…” You wanna tell him how sexy all this was, is, that _dirtyfreaky_ fucking may be your new favorite form of entertainment. And if he wants to, you know, do it again just to make sure it really was amazing and not some accident (what?) you’d definitely consider it. Instead he grins and throws a wink over his shoulder, eyeliner all over the place as his damp bangs fall into his face.

“You mind?” Oh. Oops. You pull out slowly, gently, holding onto his hip for support. When you’re out he faces you fully. “Thanks, Jensen. It’s been a pleasure.” The way he says it is bad on many levels but before you can come back with something witty and sarcastic and smart he pulls his pants up and walks out.

You don’t stop him. Not like you know the guy. Not like you want his babies or plan on shacking up with him or anything. You’ve had one-night stands a few times. You can handle what happens next. But did he have to be so…? At least a kiss goodbye? No? Well then. As you buckle up you think about the last time you had unprotected sex being the night you lost your virginity to Mary Sue Kellerman and how she, though she was a great kisser, didn’t stick around much after the fact either. But she was just as tight and felt just as…You wash your hands, too late for that, you know, but it’s a habit. Afterwards you wipe them on your jeans legs. Then, just when you were hoping the Twilight Zone had lobbed you back into the correct reality you have the forbidden image of Jared Leto aka Jordan Catalano sitting on a bar stool, your come leaking teasingly out of his ass, trying to look cool as he squirms in his seat. You head out to look for Steve with a Dean smile on your face, picturing Steve and Jared talking while Jared still feels a ghost dick remarkably like yours deep in him.

Ha! Serves the fucker right!


End file.
